


Problem Solving the Hitter Way

by Telaryn



Category: Leverage
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hostage Situation, Kidnapping, Past Relationship(s), Rescue, Revenge, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:18:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sophie goes missing, Eliot takes a partner with him to recon the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Problem Solving the Hitter Way

  
_”Bring her home, Eliot.”_

Eliot lowered his binoculars, memory of Nate’s last order to him loud in his ears again. The briefing had been too emotional to be really effective– Nate kept having to bring Hardison back on task, and Parker kept retreating to areas of the room where she felt safe. Eliot had barely managed to tamp down his own feelings about the assignment long enough to keep an eye on Nate and make sure the mastermind didn’t come apart in an explosion of fear and anxiety.

 _Bring her home._ It had been forty-eight hours since Sophie had vanished from her apartment – clothes in the closet, bed unmade, and breakfast dishes in the sink. Forty-eight hours, and even though Hardison had tracked her to a compound high in the Catskills, they still weren’t completely certain why she’d been taken or by whom.

“We need intel,” Eliot had said finally – the truth none of the rest of them could admit. “We don’t know who we’re up against or what they’re after by taking Sophie.” He had paused then, including all three of them in his gaze. “And we can’t all go. If a ransom call comes in, it’s most likely to come here – to some place the kidnappers expect us to be.”

Nate had relented finally, even though Eliot could see how it was killing him to do it.

_Bring her home._

“Man, you need to lose that thousand yard stare, if we’re going to try an extraction tonight.” Quinn was standing over him, looking down over the top of a pair of sunglasses that were much too expensive for the delivery uniform he was wearing.

Startled, Eliot scrambled to his feet. “You found something?”

By way of answer, Quinn passed over his smart phone. Eliot quickly located the tiny icon he needed, and turned on the app Hardison had installed. “Ain’t technology grand?” Quinn snarked.

It actually was pretty cool, the way Hardison made it work. The video that played on the small screen was a higher quality than Eliot knew either he or Quinn was used to – particularly since it had come directly from the button cam on Quinn’s uniform.

The subject of the video, however, was shocking enough to override any idle commentary. “You _saw_ her?”

Quinn sighed into the stillness. “Walking around free like she owned the place.” On his phone, Sophie stood at the side of an older man in an expensively tailored suit. _Lawrence Kensington,_ Eliot thought, remembering what he and Quinn had managed to dig up on the owner of the house. He’d sent the information straight to Hardison, who was working on a full profile.

“Hate to bring it up, Eliot, but are you sure..?”

His voice trailed off, but if he expected Eliot to react to his suggestion angrily, he was disappointed. Eliot felt guilty for thinking it, but it was hard not to with the evidence in his hand. Despite a significant age difference between them, Sophie was curled in close to Kensington, her arm looped in his. Her stance was somewhere between her usual easy grace, and the more intensely focused stance she tended to adopt when she was on the grift. _She didn’t out Quinn though._ It definitely weighted things on the side of Sophie still being someone they could trust.

The realization eased a tightness in his chest. Despite their individual and collective track records, and the fact that she’d worked against them in the past, Eliot realized that he couldn’t believe Sophie was working against them now.

“I need to talk to her,” he said finally. “I need to know what’s really going on here.”  
**********************  
It had taken every bit of control Sophie had to keep from betraying herself when Quinn had appeared at the front door; particularly when she’d spotted the button cam at the top of his uniformed shirt. She wanted to cry, wanted to signal whoever would be watching the footage, but she couldn’t risk it.

There was too much at stake.

Left on her own once Kensington had announced his intention to retire for the night, Sophie had immediately withdrawn to the bedroom he’d assigned her that horrible first night.

 _”You owe me,”_ he’d accused her, when she’d finally recovered from the shock of recognition and the flood of understanding that had followed in his wake. _“You cost me my only son.”_ In a little over two days he hadn’t told her what he expected her to do to pay off her debt to him, but he’d been perfectly clear what would happen if she refused.

 _Hardison…Parker…Eliot…Nate…_ The photos still lay on the antique writing desk where he had tossed them, his face a mask of sneering contempt. He’d tracked them all down with the sort of proficiency only someone with Kensington’s money and influence could manage. And he’d threatened their safety with the sort of ruthlessness only someone who’d nursed a grudge against her for nearly two decades could pull off.

Sophie had been so completely blindsided by the trap that all she’d been able to do at the time was submit meekly to his demands. She needed time and space to think her way through the situation and make an exit for herself that didn’t threaten the others – her _family_ \- in the process.

She needed help.

Almost as if he’d heard her thoughts – and given it was Eliot, Sophie wasn’t entirely sure he _hadn’t_ \- the man she’d wanted to see most since her abduction appeared in the opening of one of the casement windows. Kensington had been confident enough in the strength of his threat to keep her in line that he’d left no bars or alarms on her windows.

“I ain’t quoting Shakespeare,” he said by way of greeting. Pushing himself off the window sill, he landed lightly on the carpeted floor.

Overwhelmed, Sophie covered her hand with her mouth – stifling a sob of relief at seeing him. For a moment, the urge to run to Eliot, throw her arms around him and cede responsibility for all this mess into his likely more than capable hands was so overwhelming she almost collapsed under the weight of it.

Memory of Kensington and his money, his power, and his threats brought her back to himself. “You shouldn’t have come,” she said, lowering her hand and struggling to bring herself under control. “You don’t know what’s going on here.”

The look he gave her in response was so perfectly Eliot, Sophie almost laughed. “You know better,” was what he said. “You’re lucky I convinced the rest of them to stay behind. Nate’s ready to come unraveled, he’s so worried about you.” His sharp sigh was tinged with obvious frustration. “Talk. What the hell’s going on here?”

Sophie knew she should have had a story ready – something to tell Eliot to convince him to go, to convince all of them that they needed to leave her alone to deal with this. But the fact that it _was_ Eliot, who she knew better than to try and lie to, combined with the truth that she really didn’t want to be here at Lawrence Kensington’s mercy, finally loosened her tongue.

“I was seventeen.” It was obviously not the start to the story he’d been expecting. Eliot’s eyes widened in obvious surprise, but Sophie forced herself to keep going.

“I was seventeen,” she repeated, “and in love with the only son of a neighboring family. James was three years older, but his father still thought we were too young to be that serious.” She smiled bitterly. “There was also a decided difference in our social standing.”

She continued telling the story as cleanly as she remembered it – memory crowding close, pressing her to tell the truth at last. “By the time I was eighteen, I was pregnant.” She glanced at Eliot to gauge his reaction, but his expression was the same perfect neutrality it had been since she’d started the tale. He wouldn’t judge her – at least not until all the facts were in. There was a great deal of comfort in that realization.

“James was overjoyed,” she went on. “He wanted to get married immediately, but I was terrified of what his father would say. We argued on and off for weeks, until one night…” Her voice trailed off then, memory finally overwhelming her.

She’d been feeling the cramps since early that morning, and even though Sophie hadn’t been as worldly then as she was now, she’d known instinctively that something was wrong. By the time James had arrived that afternoon to continue their discussion, she was sick and desperate and in the early stages of miscarrying. “I screamed at him,” she forced herself to say, “said every hateful, hurtful thing I could think of to make him go away, so I wouldn’t have to admit what was really happening to me.”

There was a flash of sympathy then in Eliot’s eyes, but she waved him off before he could say anything. “My only defense, Eliot, is that I was a child and I was terrified. He left, and my parents took me to the hospital.”

Sophie swallowed hard against an unexpected lump of grief clogging her throat. “He died that night. Car accident; best I can figure he was worked up about the baby and the fight and wasn’t paying enough attention.” She sighed quietly. “I left home as soon as I was well enough to travel, and I never looked back.”

“A touching tale I’m sure.” Startled, Sophie whirled to see that Quinn had come in her bedroom door while she’d been talking. “But I’m afraid I don’t see how it plays on our current situation here.” He glanced past Sophie to Eliot. “Guards are all gathered in the kitchen. It’s making me kind of nervous, actually – they should be more on point if there’s a prisoner here to worry about.”

“He’s got leverage on her,” Eliot said. He went to the desk and picked up the spray of photos. “Yep.” Crossing to Quinn, he passed the stack to the other hitter, who whistled – clearly impressed with whatever he’d seen. “So, Kensington,” Eliot said, focusing on Sophie again. “He the kid’s father?”

She nodded. “He keeps saying that I owe him, but he hasn’t told me what he expects me to do about it.”

Eliot shrugged, his expression suddenly cold and determined. “One sure way to cancel a debt like that.”

“You can’t!” Sophie countered, shock and fear making her voice louder than it probably should have been. “Eliot, you can’t execute him. There’s got to be another way through this – I just haven’t been able to figure it out yet.”

The thing that hurt most was that Eliot wasn’t surprised by her horror at his proposed solution. He accepted that she saw that part of him as a monster and rolled with it. “This guy isn’t a good mark, Soph,” he said patiently. “This is an unacceptable risk; we need to deal with it and move on.”

“Eliot,” she said, more afraid for him than any of the others connected to the problem in that moment, “you can’t. You’re not a murderer. You’re not that man anymore.”

Now it was Quinn’s turn to shrug, and suddenly there was a pistol in his hand. “Lucky for you both,” he said, “I still am.”


End file.
